


Nettles

by sasha_t



Category: The Last of Us
Genre: Child Death, Killing, Major Original Character(s), Marriage, Medicine, Multi, Revenge, Sex, Sexual Violence, Starvation, Torture, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 07:49:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4340054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_t/pseuds/sasha_t
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nettles turn into soup, and maple leaves turn into blood.</p><p>Ties into the series <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/304596">One More Trip</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nettles

# Nettles

“Owww!” Ellie quickly drew her hand away from the plant. “Are you sure this is what we want?”

“Quit squirmin'. You gotta bend your thumb and pinch the stalk right below the leaf. Like'at.” With a deft flick of the wrist, Joel snapped a bunch of deep-green leaves off the stem and tossed them into Ellie's basket. He held an axe in the other hand.

“Huh. Must be those leathery talons of yours. I, on the other hand, have delicate fingers and shit. I will therefore use my knife, thank you.” Putting down the basket, she took out her knife and hunched over another plant. She stood up straight. “Man, how am I gonna be able to cut the damn things if I don't hold the leaves with the other hand?”

Joel snorted. “You can do it, princess.”

He was heading for a big tree about 10 feet away, talking over his shoulder, trying not to smile too much. “Make sure you get the dark-colored ones. They've got more juice.” Giving the tree a thorough once-over, he set down his backpack, walked to the north face, spread his legs and swung. 

Thump.

“Jesus these things sting. After we cook'em, will they be alright?” Knees in the moist forest dirt, Ellie was glowering at the offending plants, trying to figure out which had the least moxie. Wyoming nettles seemed more threatening than others. Not that she'd seen others.

Thump.

“Nah. It's gonna get worse. One mouthful and you won't be able to talk for a week.” _How I wish._

“You're joking, right?” Ellie was worried.

Thump.

“Right?” She looked over at Joel, trying to read his face, but his back was turned.

“Kid, if it helps ease your mind, nettles used to be one of the healthiest things you could eat even before the outbreak. They got lotsa iron, they clean out your blood, and they're good for your hair. Now hush and fill that basket.”

Thump.

“If you say so, old man,” grumbled Ellie, unconvinced, but her hands were almost numb anyway so she kept picking the nettles.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

“Joel, would you mind getting that mushroom for me?”

He turned around and looked for Niamh, who had made her way up some steep rocks about 20 feet away. Her outstretched arm was pointing at his tree high up. He scanned the part of the bark facing her and there it was, a cluster of taupe mushrooms the size of a handball.

“Uh, d'you need'em now or can I yank'em loose after I've downed the tree?”

“Nah, you can chop the tree first. Just make sure they don't get crushed. I'm gonna head that way, I think I saw some lichens. I'm leaving the nettles here.”

“Alright.”

They were a few miles north of the Boston QZ, gathering materials for medicines. At least, she was. She was Niamh, a healer of sorts, the closest thing people in the QZ had to emergency medical care. He was there to keep an eye out. She had given him a bottle of good hooch for the trouble. These woods were pretty much free of hunters and infected, but you never knew. And as long as he was there, he chopped some wood for the safehouse. It was a sprawling suburban mansion his group was using en route to and from Lincoln. The sun was setting. He suggested they camp in that house for the night, and she agreed.

They had met two years before, doing pretty much the same thing. The only difference was that she had ended up fixing a splint for his broken ankle. Even then, Joel had found her company easy and devoid of any tension. The women he had known ever since the outbreak either wanted something from him, ended up in bed with him, were trying to end up in bed with him, were trying to get away from him, were trying to make a point or ended up dead. Niamh was clear-headed and calm, none of the hysterics he was used to. She was an amiable associate, and a trust-worthy one, too. Folks came to her to get patched-up, including Joel, and left with a smile on their face. She didn't stir up anybody's imagination, nobody wondered if she had a man, if she had a woman, nobody cared. She didn't want anything from anybody except fair payment for services rendered. She didn't gossip, manipulate people or cause trouble. Joel couldn't ask for a better working partner.

One afternoon, he trotted over to her small house on 3rd covered from head to toe in cuts and bruises, ones he knew would fare better with an expert clean-up job. The gauze, alcohol and ointments were permanently laid out on the living room table. As she worked her way to the last cut on the bridge of his nose, she tilted her head and gave him an awkward smile, as if she'd been caught scooping the cream off the milk.

“Uh, you mentioned you were heading out to the wharf.” With the tip of her finger, she took out some green goo from a pill bottle and applied it to his nose. He winced.

“Yeah?”

“Would you be willing to take a small detour?” Her eyes studiously avoided his.

“Depends. Watcha got?”

“Oh, I... Well, I can give you a can of lychees.” _Lychees, huh? Must be important._

“No, I mean where?”

“The conservatory.”

Joel snorted. “You're joking, right?” His eyes were focused on her face. He read nothing other than a trace of peevishness.

“Not at all. It's got something that I've been wanting to get my hands on for years.”

“That place's been picked clean years ago. Ain't nothin' there but clickers and bloaters.”

She didn't say anything. Looking down, she nodded and played with the roll of gauze absentmindedly.

“Good as new. If you feel dizzy, the wounds start to swell up or you get a fever, come back immediately. Drink this twice a day for four days.” She handed him a plastic bottle with something orange inside. 

He fished out a 3kg bag of rice from his backpack and put it on her table. “Thanks, doc. This takes care of three more?”

“That's right.”

“Next Thursday for berry pickin'?”

“If you can manage it.”

He nodded and made for the door.

“Listen,” rang her voice.

Joel turned. In her hand was a can of something.

“Here. I feel kinda bad talking about them and not sharing. If you can leave a couple for me, that'd be nice.”

They were lychees. He took the can.

On the way to the safehouse, he kept thinking about that can. There were all sorts of things weighing down his pack, but the only thing he could feel was that huge can of lychees digging into his shoulder. _Ain't it a bit over the top? Clearly she expects me back. Sharin' fruit. I knew it. Shit. This one almost had me with her Mother Teresa shtick. What does she want? Could be anythin'. Haven't felt any hot vibe from her. But you can never tell. It's the quiet ones._

Joel was curious, though. As guarded as he had become, it was still a thrill to learn about people. Their depravity, their tricks, their perversions. To him, it was like learning how to whittle an arrow. A survival skill, one which amused him to no end. It also helped him cope with what he had done in his life.

The next time he was in her house, he had with him half a can of lychees and a brown paper bag full of nettles. “Figured you might need these,” he mumbled. He was still not sure what to make of her, felt a bit awkward. He wasn't much of an actor; he preferred to quietly watch them spill the beans.

“This is gold! Thank you! With the cranberries and the garlic I got yesterday I can make a tonic. Much appreciated!” The nettles were neatly placed in the cupboard. “The lychees... Hm. I see you left me quite a lot of them. Nice. My friend Meg's coming by tomorrow with her baby girl, she'll enjoy these.” Smiling, she decanted the fruits and syrup in a glass jar and twisted shut the lid. That also went into her cupboard.

Joel watched Niamh intently. Feather-light manner, soft-spokenness, shy friendliness. He stifled a victorious grin. _Sly bitch. She's 35 and acts like a damn nun._ It wasn't just her sex life, either. All of it seemed fake. The other day, he'd heard a guy tell this crazy story of how Doc Niamh took out two bloaters and rescued a little boy from a burning shed. _What a bunch of crap. She don't even have muscles, like Tess. Nobody's that good._ What ticked him off most was the feeling that he'd lost a good working partner.

“That's that, then. I'll be headin' out.” Adjusting the straps of his backpack, he walked to the door.

“Thank you. Take care out there.”

As the door closed softly, he caught a glimpse of her looking down, a polite smile on her lips. 

It drove him nuts. He knocked on the door.

“Yes?”

“What were you hopin' to find at the conservatory?”

“Oh. It's... it's nothing. They have an Imperial Bösendorfer I've been itching to try.”

“An imperial what?”

“A piano. A grand piano, a monster. It's supposed to be in the main hall. But you're right, it's insane. Not to mention the sound's bound to draw half the clickers in the state. Forget I mentioned it.”

“G'night.”

“Goodnight.”

His steps grew angrier and angrier as he made his way down the long alleyway. _That's just great. A music lover. Classical, no less. Bet she'd play up a storm. Perfect execution. Shit, I bet she quotes the I Ching when she comes. Two years she's been perfectly cool, and now this._ Seething, he unlocked the door to his apartment, threw his stuff on the floor, splashed some water on his face and went to sleep.

He knocked on her door.

“Hi. Come in.”

“I think I've found something you might like. Put your jacket on, it's all kindsa nippy today.”

“OK, let me grab my revolver.”

 _Gun, huh? Florence Nightingale with a Colt in her bra. Shit._ He led her to an abandoned apartment building in a remote, sparsely populated area of the QZ. Poplars grew tall and wild, swaying and rustling in the baby autumn wind. Third floor, down a corridor. In the living room of an apartment was a piano. A Chickering grand.

Niamh approached the instrument, examining it closely. “Glenn Gould used to play on one of these when he was a kid,” she mumbled, lost in thought. She opened the top. All the wires were still inside. She lifted the lid, sat down and played a note. Badly out of tune. She sighed and sat there for a while. Turning, she gave Joel a smile. 

“Thank you, this was very sweet of you. If you want, you can go back now, I know the way.”

“Alright. But you might need this.” He handed her a tuning key.

“Whe-” she gasped.

She was already prepping the “monster” to get at its insides. _Yeah, you keep this up, girl. See who has the last laugh._

That night, he spread Tess on the table and screwed her silly. He thrust his tongue down her throat and his cock into her pussy at the same time, pumping fast and hard, pinning her down with his weight, ignoring her completely. This was something new. Tess was desperately squealing, begging him not to stop, but he ignored her and kept ramming into her, tongue and dick throbbing like there was no tomorrow. She came so many times her dripping thighs went numb. Shoving him off of her with both arms, she sat up and almost barked at him.

“Dammit, Joel, I told you, it's gotta be exclusive!”

He was panting, shaking his head, barely able to open his mouth. “No, ma'am, I been a good boy.”

He fucked her again, more viciously. It took half an hour before they could manage to walk to the bed.

He knocked on Niamh's door.

“Hello. Come in.”

“I have a can of beans, wanna trade?”

“Sure. I have a jar of apricot preserves, a jar of prunes and a can of Grape Fanta.”

He looked at her.

“Niamh, do you even need the beans?”

“Lord no, I have six cans already.”

“Then why do you wanna trade?”

“I figured you need something else and I can always make more jam.”

Joel shook his head in disbelief. “You gotta say no if you need to.”

“No,” she chuckled.

“Alright.” He turned toward the door.

“Don't you need sweet stuff? Quick energy fix?”

“Then may I have the jar of apricots, please?”

As he walked down the alleyway, apricot jar in hand, he kept shaking his head. _The hell am I doin'?_

Autumn was gathering strength. One night, he had a dream how millions of red maple leaves were riding a chilly breeze against the setting sun, how he was one of those leaves, and how much he longed to kiss a pair of sweet lips. Niamh's.

He knocked on her door.

“Hi. Come on in.”

“Just dropped by to ask how your piano's doin'.”

“Good, really good!” she chuckled.

“Can I listen?”

Niamh looked a bit lost. Maybe even reticent. Like someone who was used to rejection. Joel wasn't even sure it was related to the music.

“Well, I'm not a good player and I don't know if the stuff I play is your cup of tea, but sure.”

“Then let me know when you'll be headin' that way.”

“Now?”

When they arrived at the apartment, the first thing Niamh did was to let the air in through the kitchen window. It was the only one that would open. There was a damp smell that he hadn't noticed before. She had fixed up the place to the point where it looked absurdly normal. Joel was dumbfounded. Neither he nor Tess had done much to make their respective living quarters look like anything other than a temporary shelter. As he scanned the apartment, glimmers of his old home in Texas appeared before his eyes. He felt his stomach knot up.

“Better not play with the window open,” he suggested, sitting on the sofa.

“Of course. I just open it for about 10 minutes.”

She placed a jar of salted cashews on the coffee table. 

“Help yourself. Sorry I don't have a proper dish for that. I forgot.”

She closed the window. Nervously, she sat at the piano. Her hands were shaking, her right foot wouldn't stay on the pedal.

“Stage fright?”

“You have no idea.”

Joel stood up and went over to her. Sly bitch or not, her discomfort seemed real enough. He pulled a chair beside her and looked at the keys.

“These little fuckers scare ya? You know, I used to play the guitar when I was a kid. Drove my folks crazy. Never any stage fright. Ever had anybody you could play in front of?”

“Nobody.”

“Then why the hell did you let me tag along?”

“It felt rude to refuse, especially since you found this beauty for me.”

“Alright then, I'll be goin',” he huffed.

“I'm so sorry.”

“Don't keep sayin' you're sorry, it ain't nothin' to be sorry about.”

“Sorry.” She looked genuinely embarrassed. Then she offered, “We can just talk.”

Joel sighed loudly. “Nah, it's gettin' late. See ya.”

“You, too.”

He closed the door behind him. As he was about to step onto the first set of stairs, he heard the piano muffled behind the crumbling walls. He drew closer to the door. He didn't know what she was playing but it tore Joel's heart to shreds.

He couldn't move. She kept playing, one piece after another, and he kept listening. A couple of hours later, she stopped. It was dark outside. He stuck around in the corridor, listening, making sure she had no intention of leaving, then quickly went back to his place.

The first thing he noticed the next morning on his way to a deal was a Dawn of the Wolf poster leering at him. _That's my sappy life right there. Thank God for Tess._

Everybody entered January with the usual desperation. No heat in the homes, rations had dwindled to almost nothing. People were dying of cold and starvation left and right. Joel and Tess were doing marginally better than the folks who had no connections outside, but things had ground to a halt job-wise. They were living on the stuff they'd managed to scrounge up during the fall months. Joel had forgotten about Niamh.

One day, around noon, he saw a guy wearing a maroon jacket. On his sleeve was a maple-leaf insignia.

Joel knocked on Niamh's door.

“Oh, hi, come in,” she smiled as usual, pulling open the door for him.

“I brought some energy bars and a heat pack. Good army stuff.”

“You're a lifesaver, Joel. Please, take a seat, I'll be right with you.” Heat pack in hand, she vanished into what appeared to be the bedroom of the house. A baby's voice hung in the air for a bit. It seemed to be in distress. Niamh mumbled something comforting. Then a smooch, much like the ones he used to give Sarah when she had an upset tummy. Joel started to feel very uncomfortable. His palms were sweating, he felt his heart in his nose. He started to get up.

“Don't go. It's alright. I think she's OK for now.” Niamh opened a bottle of vodka and poured him a small glass.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his throat hoarse. He took a few sips. Finally, he asked. “You got a little one in there?” His hands were shaking a bit. _She'd better think I'm cold._

“Sad story. Her mom, Meg, passed away a week ago. I might have mentioned her to you.”

“You wanted those lychees for her.”

“Yeah. She died in her sleep. There was nothing wrong with her as far as I could tell. But I never got to finish med school, so I can't be sure.” 

“Human will's a terrible force.”

“That's what I'm thinking, but maybe I could have caught it medically.”

She seemed to drift off into a grim daydream. Her features were suddenly those of a very world-weary, worn, middle-aged woman with no hope left.

“It'll get better. It always does.” _Where the hell do I come up with this manure?_ “You have any experience raisin' kids?”

“None. Do you?”

Joel swallowed hard. “Yes. I had a daughter.”

Niamh looked up, saw his face, then softly placed her hand on his.

“I'm sorry, Joel.”

“It's alright, doc.”

He sipped his vodka while she rummaged through the drawers. Her outstretched hand held some shotgun ammo and three AA batteries.

“Thanks.” He pocketed the lot.

_She ain't asking for tips, why ain't she askin'?_

“Why aren't you askin' for tips on child-rearin'?”

“I figured you don't want to be reminded. I have others I can ask.”

_Why do I feel left out, useless? I'm a blazin' fool._

“'Long as I'm here, might as well take a look.”

“Brilliant!” Niamh smiled, greatly relieved by the offer. She led the way to the other room where the baby was sleeping through a fever and a nightmare. She sat down next to the baby, placing her hand on its tiny body. 

“This is Sonya.”

 _A girl._ “Ten months?”

“A year and a month.”

The heat pack that Joel had brought was doing its thing on Sonya's tummy. The room seemed to be slightly warmer and clammier than the rest of the house.

“You been heatin' this place?”

“Boiling-hot water in PET bottles. State-of-the art.” There were more than four dozen bottles placed in and around the bed.

“This won't do,” Joel nodded. “I'll build you a stove so you can heat the house properly. Easy to do. Show me the layout of this place.”

As he followed her around, tapping the walls and examining the windows, he continued. “Medically you know more than I do, but what I can tell you is you gotta keep the lines of communication open. You gotta learn how to read 'er. She's gotta know it's alright to come to you, to tell you what's botherin' her. And you've gotta get used to holdin' her in your arms a lot. Talk to her like you would to a grown-up. Kids are smart. They're people and they know what they like and what they don't like. You'll find that if they're OK in here" – he was pointing to his chest – "they're less likely to get sick.”

Niamh laughed. Her earlier despondency had vanished. Joel's eyes widened askance. Then he noticed she had the most serene, kind smile he had ever seen on a woman.

“Thank you, I'll do my best,” she said.

“You're welcome.”

Next day, he built Niamh a very hot wood stove.

Three weeks passed. February was worse. The blizzards wouldn't stop. Frozen birds would sometimes fall from the sky: manna from Heaven. Rumors of cannibalism spread. Nobody was outraged or surprised.

“You live like an animal, and pretty soon you become one,” Tess mused.

“Ain't many animals that eat their own kind,” murmured Joel.

When Joel saw Niamh again, she didn't bother being polite.

“How's Sonya?”

“Pretty bad. I need to get some food into her. And some antibiotics.”

“What do you need?”

“I don't know where to begin.”

“Stay here, I'll be right back.”

“No. Sit. I haven't got a lot of time.” There was something odd in her voice, something was off.

“I'm gonna make this as succinct as I can, so don't interrupt. There's a guy high up in FEDRA who's known to give handouts in exchange for sex. Luckily he prefers women. He's due to transfer out next week. I want to go to him but I don't know anything about this stuff. Could you teach me what to do and what not to do? I don't want to set him off. And please don't judge me or laugh in my face. I know perfectly well how ridiculous this is. So, how about it? I'll give you 30% of whatever I manage to get.” Her face was ablaze, hot tears had pooled in her eyes.

Joel was speechless. If it hadn't been for the little girl starving to death in the next room, he'd laugh himself unconscious. He almost had the urge to go to the next room and check out the child for himself, just to make sure he wasn't being played somehow.

“You don't believe me. I don't care. Just pretend you're teaching a 16-year-old. I'll make it dark in here so you don't find me off-putting.”

“Now hold on, I never said I don't believe you. It's just.... How?”

“Doesn't matter. Will you do it?”

“Niamh, you don't have to. There are other ways-”

“There is no other way. Believe me, I've thought about it. I've gotta be able to control this thing. Ensure a steady supply of stuff for Sonya and me. Adults can go for a while without food or water, but with kids it's much more strict. You know that. It's like the fucking Siege of Leningrad all over again. For pity's sake, look at her. I can't bear to see her turn into a corpse. I have to do this for her.”

 _Well well, profanity next to a historical reference. Smooth._ He was expecting to see her bawl her eyes out, but once she had gotten over her “embarrassment at her inexperience”, she was her calm self.

“Why me?” asked Joel, smiling flatly. “Of all the guys you coulda asked, why me?” _Sooner or later, you're gonna drop the ball, little lady. But I gotta hand it to ya, this has to be the classiest game of foreplay I've had the honor of participatin' in._

“You seemed kind.”

_Fine. If that's how you roll, let ol' Joel show you what's what._

Niamh reached for the flaming candle, but Joel stopped her.

“If you're gonna learn, you gotta see some stuff. Cap'n FEDRA'll wanna see some stuff, too, I reckon.”

She looked very uncomfortable. He took her hands in his and leaned in for a kiss. At the last moment, he pulled back, a sardonic smirk marring his face.

“You do know how to kiss, right?”

“Not really.”

_This is too much. You'll pay for this._

“Close your eyes.”

Niamh closed her eyes. He pressed his lips against hers softly, a few seconds at first, then longer, wrapping his arms around her. A gentle warmth was spreading throughout his body, nudging to life parts of him he didn't even know were there. It made him feel awkward and incredibly shy. He felt his cheeks flush, his heart starting to race. Nothing stirring down there.

_The hell... Hope she doesn't notice._

After a while, she started kissing him back. Although she was copying him, there was also something different to what she was doing. Her kisses were extremely tender, as though she had the love of her life in her arms.

“You're a quick study, miss,” he whispered into her mouth, stroking her cheek.

She looked down, looked lost. Then she gently unwrapped his arm from around her waist and stepped back.

“Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. There are other guys that can show me. Or I can just go like this. I'm sure it won't matter to that guy one way or the other.”

Remorse. The emotion Joel hated most. It made him seethe in anger at himself for feeling it. He managed to put together a few words, his voice thick.

“I'm sorry. I shouldnta said that. I had no idea what this means to you. There aren't many 35-year-olds who feel the way you do. Hell, even 10-year-old kids used to be jaded before the outbreak. The world went to shit long before.”

“It's OK. You tried and I'm grateful. And it was nice.” There she was again, blushing. “Goodnight.”

“G'night. I'll be back tomorrow with some supplies. Don't try nothin' stupid.”

He came back the same night with antibiotics, a sack of corn and a jar of honey.

A few days later, he came by Niamh's - to check the stove, he told himself. Nobody answered his knocking. Sonya was crying inside. He paced in the blizzard for about five minutes, contemplating whether or not to knock down the door. Good locks were hard to come by these days.

“Fuck it.” He took a step back, getting ready to ram through. The sound of footsteps in the snow stopped him in his tracks.

He could barely make out Niamh's outline. She had on an enormous ushanka hat, what looked like a man's wool coat, military boots and an overstuffed backpack. Her gait was wobbly. As she approached the door, he could smell expensive booze on her breath. Her face was badly bruised.

Joel didn't know whether to get mad or help steady her.

“Gimme the key. C'mon.”

She handed him the key.

“You went and did it anyway,” he said in a low growl.

She went straight into the bedroom and took Sonya in her arms. The baby stopped crying, started mumbling baby words.

“Hold her, please.” The sounds came out mangled from her swollen lips.

“Christ, what did he do to you?” he asked in exasperation, taking the baby.

“They. Six. More bang for the buck.” She tried to chuckle but winced and bent to one side, holding her ribs. “Turns out I didn't need prior training after all,” she continued with mock glee. The excruciating pain in her side made her breathless. She finally managed to pull out a baby bottle, sealed in its original packaging, and some powdered milk. She also produced a syringe and two penicillin vials, waving them weakly in the air. “For next time.”

A long, exhausted sigh escaped her deformed lips.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Here.” She took off the gray ushanka hat and offered it to him.

Joel stared at her.

“I don't want it.” He involuntarily held the baby tighter.

“Oh, don't even go there. Please. A loving gift from a dear friend. Please, Joel. I'd give you the coat but it's too small for you.” The one eye that could open properly looked at him with what he could only call gratitude.

“No.”

“Fine. I'm too tired to argue. Gonna get cleaned up. Will you watch Sonya for me?”

“Go on.”

Joel got to work in the kitchen, heating up water for the powdered milk in one pot, boiling the baby bottle in another. He had brought a pack of rice with him, an egg, some raisins and a leg of roasted wolf. Looking in the cupboard he fished out a jar of strawberry jam. _Should be able to make some rice puddin'._ Holding Sonya in one arm, he bobbed gently, humming a song he used to hum to Sarah. He poured some of the milk in the baby bottle and used the rest to make the pudding. As he was stirring the rice with the wooden spoon, the baby snuggled into him, pressed her little face against his hairy cheek. It was a coincidence; the baby was too young to know what a smooch was. But tears gathered in Joel's eyes. He softly kissed the little one on the temple.

“Joel?” Niamh was calling from the bathroom.

“Yeah?”

“I need help.”

Joel shifted the saucepan away from the fire, put the wooden spoon across the rim and went to the bathroom. What he saw almost made his knees buckle.

She was covered in blood down there. Her whole body was a mess of contusions and slashes. Especially her breasts and buttocks. The entire area below her left breast was turning purple.

“I know it's absolutely gross, but can you get me down there? And the legs. I can't reach, it's too damn painful.” She was standing inside the tub, the top half of her clumsily lathered up, legs slightly apart and bent.

Without a word, Joel went to the bedroom and tucked Sonya in, returned to the bathroom and took the soap cake from Niamh. He felt the blood drain from his face. The fury that had simmered in his gut began to boil.

Niamh mistook his stiff jaw for disgust.

“I'm so sorry for putting you through this. I'm embarrassed as hell, but I can't do it by myself. I'm so sorry.”

“Shush. You have a washcloth?” He figured the last thing she'd want on her skin is a man's bare hands.

She pointed to the faucet. A rag of nondescript color was hanging over the hot water knob. The water in the bucket next to her was still steaming. He dunked the rag, worked in some soap, and looked up at her. 

“Alright, I'm gonna start. If you feel any pain, you holler.”

She nodded.

He wiped her down as gently as he could, removing all the dirt, blood and semen. She kept quiet, putting her hand on his shoulder for balance now and then. Whatever she was feeling, the only thing she showed Joel was consideration. He kept going in utter disbelief.

“Thank you so much. Thank you,” she mumbled, stepping out of the tub extremely slowly, crumpling Joel's sleeve in her clenched fist.

“Let's get you dry.” His tone had become mellow, as if he'd been doing this for years, as if they were each other's one and only lover since childhood. After he had finished patting her body dry, he started on her hair. It was beginning to thin, there was quite a lot of gray. Her widow's peak, slightly off-center, brought a faint smile to his face. As he worked the towel over her hair, she seemed in danger of dozing off.

“Niamh,” he said softly, “you gotta get some sleep.”

“That'd be nice.” Her voice was almost inaudible.

“Let's make you a turban.” He gathered her hair under the towel and twisted gently. The contraption looked godawful. A lock of hair fell from under the towel onto her nose. “Oooop. There.” He tucked it in again. “C'mon girl, let's get you to bed.”

He led her to the bedroom, where she barely managed to lower herself next to Sonya. He drew the blanket over her, went to check things in the kitchen, then came back for the baby.

When Niamh woke up, the baby had been fed, the blood-stained clothes had been put in warm water to soak, the table had been set. Rice porridge, steaming hot. Chamomile tea. A huge leg of roasted something. Strawberry jam.

Joel was sitting in the sofa, Sonya sleeping on his chest.

When she saw all this, tears started to flow down her face. Frankly, Joel didn't think it would impress her all that much. She seemed to have an odd air about her, as if she saw this sort of thing all the time where she was from. But of course, she was from here, just as he was. Sometimes he had to remind himself that she was human.

“Don't do that again,” he said in a low tone so as not to wake the baby.

“I have to. He'll be gone in three days. I can get two more sessions out of him.”

“Sessions? Jesus...”

“I don't know what else to call them.”

“Don't. He won't want to see you like this anyway.”

“Too late, already made the appointment.”

“Don't do it, Niamh, I'm serious. It may end badly. Worse than today.”

Niamh tasted the porridge, eyes closed. “Scrummmmtious!” She slapped a huge dollop of jam on the rice and tasted the marvelously charred meat.

For the next two days, Joel babysat Sonya while Niamh was at FEDRA headquarters. The acid in his stomach made him queasy. At the end of it, she seemed alright. The swelling in her face had gone down as well.

“You 'bout done?” Joel couldn't hide his anger.

“Yes. He's gone,” she replied, satisfied. “I got some incredible loot this time.” She handed him a gun.

“Hm. Silenced El Diablo, 20X scope, six chambers. Custom-made, I'd say.” He turned the gun on all sides, making sure she noticed him admiring the craftsmanship. He didn't want to hurt her feelings by doing what he wanted to do, which was hurl the thing into a fire. “He gave you this?”

“Yep. Said he wanted to give me something nice. According to him, it's a very good gun.”

“It is. Silently blow your head off from half a mile away.”

“And, of course, a lot of meds, gauze, tape, strong alcohol. I've got enough to patch you up for the next 20 years.”

Joel snorted. He handed her back the gun.

“Keep it," she said. "You know more about it than I do. Besides, it doesn't seem very lady-like.”

“Since when do you care 'bout bein' a lady?” _God, I can't believe I said that._ His face went pale.

“Legit question. Now that I think about it, never. I just have an annoying thing going on, where people mistake me for one.” She laughed.

_She's so damn beautiful. And she ain't even pretty. How the hell does she do that?_

“No.” He frowned.

“Please. It has nothing to do with FEDRA. If I had had it before, I would have given it to you. I mean, who knows, you might have to defend Sonya or me some day,” she chortled. Then her smile broke down and she began to fidget. “That came out wrong. I didn't mean to imply... You're under no obligation-”

Before she could finish her sentence, Joel had gently put Sonya on the sofa and taken Niamh in his arms, very loosely, giving her plenty of space.

“May I kiss you?” he whispered, looking into her eyes.

She nodded, a lovely smile in her gaze.

He tilted her head back and touched her lips with his, trying to reproduce the smoldering tenderness he had received from her. She responded by stroking his face very gently, with melting candor, as if it was the most delicate, most precious thing in the universe. She brought his nose to her lips and began planting passionate kisses all over his face. When her lips touched his closed eyelids, he couldn't take it anymore and covered her mouth with his in a full-bodied embrace, his heart filled with the most ecstatic love he had ever known in his life. The way she ran her fingers through his beard, his hair, the way she looked at him, his eyes, his lips, her gaze so sweet, welcoming, kind, there was such awesome power in her emotion that he felt as though his heart would explode and get crushed at the same time.

“Niamh...” he moaned, slowly caressing her neck with his mouth. _Still nothin' goin' on down there. Maybe it's puppy love after all. Hell, I ain't about to do nothin' to her anyway. Reckon she won't be needin' that for a while-_

She put her warm hands on his waist to stop him before things got too far. At that moment, he felt it swell and stiffen painfully.

_Fuck..._

“Joel...” she murmured.

“I wasn't going to...” He found it very hard to talk.

“I know.” She stroked his face.

He took her in his arms again and held her tight, wondering if he was good enough for her. _Why the hell am I feelin' so stupid?_

When he finally headed for the door, he remembered to give her the fourteen cans of food he had brought.

“My goodness, looks like dowry. You proposin' mister?” She put on her best Texas accent. _Not bad. The r's need work, though._

“Reckon I am, ma'am.”

“But we hardly know each other.” She was thoroughly enjoying the banter, but he found himself actually entertaining the idea.

“What's your favorite season?”

“Winter. Yours?”

“Autumn. What was your favorite dish before the outbreak?”

“New England clam chowder. You?”

“Baby back ribs with potato salad. What was that music you played after I left?”

She broke character. “You listened?”

“The whole two hours.”

She chuckled and blushed. “Well, I started with Schubert, piano sonata opus 120, second movement. After that I don't remember.”

“You played beautifully, ma'am.”

“Why thank you kindly. I do believe I've discovered my first and only admirer!”

“What's your favorite song?”

“Seven Daffodils, Brothers Four version. Nothin' more fetchin' than boys with gueetars. How 'bout you?”

“I'll play my gueetar for you the day after tomorrow. Danny Boy, Andy Williams.”

“I know, right? Voice like velvet, and he doesn't sing the sinister bits. Although I suspect you might just destroy him. It's like we're prepping for an INS interview, isn't it?”

Joel laughed. “I'll be back in two days. Don't go marryin' nobody. And don't do that other stuff. I mean it.” He gave her one more long kiss, then stepped out into the blizzard. He heard her run toward him in the snow. She stuffed the El Diablo into his backpack.

On the job, he could think of nothing else but her, what he had said to her. Marriage? The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like he had eaten a bad potato. What was he expecting? She said it herself, they hardly knew each other. She was so far from the sort of woman that ended up in his bed that he didn't know where to begin. Maybe she'll be the first to back out, gracefully of course, and they'll laugh it off. Two adults saying outrageous things for fun.

Joel approached Niamh's house fully braced for a break-up. _Break-up? Nothin' happened, for cryin' out loud._ He shook his head.

He was halfway up the alleyway when he noticed the front door was wide open. The alarm in his gut went off.

“Niamh! Niamh!” Joel ran through the door. The place had been ransacked, picked clean. On the bedroom floor lay Niamh in a pool of congealed blood, naked, throat slit. Sonya was on the bed, also naked, blue and still. Their bodies were covered in fine ice crystals.

“Sweet Jesus, no....” He fell to his knees, losing any sense of where he was or what he was doing. When he came to, his body was convulsing, his face contorted, wet with tears. He had lost his voice. One hand was gripping his chest. He couldn't breathe.

He buried Niamh and Sonya in the frozen earth of the back yard, the little one on top of the woman he was about to marry. His wife.

It was a very chilly spring. The leaves popped out late and froze up in the trees. Joel was on his way to the wharf. In a ration line, he noticed the gray ushanka hat that Niamh had wanted to give him. It was emblazoned with the FEDRA logo, special forces insignia in hunter green. No two like it. He waited for the guy to get his ration cards, then tailed him to an out-of-the-way courtyard. 

“Hey!” he hollered.

The guy spun around. All six foot five of him. He had a huge red beard.

“Where'd ya get that hat?”

Red Beard quickly flung the ushanka to the ground and tried to bolt. Joel blocked him and grabbed his collar.

“I said, where did you get the hat.”

“Fuck you, asshole.”

“Wrong.” Joel punched him in the face. “Where!” Thump. A tooth came flying out from amid Red Beard.

“Go screw yourself.” Red Beard was squirming, trying to break loose. _All brawn, no skill. That's how they make'm in the QZ._ Thump. This time a gold tooth shot out.

“Hey, watch it! You know who I am?”

“Who are you?” Thump.

“You're gonna regret this.”

“Is that so?” Thump.

“What the hell's the matter with you, man?”

Thump. “A woman was murdered on 3rd street a month ago. This hat was in her house.”

“So? I don't know anything about that.”

“Think harder.” Joel grabbed Red Beard by the neck and pinned him to a wall. He drew out the El Diablo and held it against the guy's crotch. Red Beard's eyes grew wide. He kept looking down at the gun.

“What, you know this gun?” Joel gripped the guy's neck tighter, almost choking him.

“Yeah, OK, OK, I've never seen it until now, but I know about it.”

“How?”

“Fuck you.”

“HOW!”

“My brother told me.”

“Your brother have a name?”

“Listen, if he finds out, he'll kill me.”

“Tell me now and you won't have to worry 'bout nothin'. TELL ME!”

“He's FEDRA, man, you don't fuck with those guys.”

“Name, rank and unit.”

“Arvin Bergen, colonel, Ballistics 2.”

“Not special forces?”

“No, man.”

“He gave you the hat?”

“Yeah. Told me he was after the gun, though, but he couldn't find it at that bitch's house. Hey man, what's with the questions?”

“Jus' wonderin'.” Joel snapped the guy's neck.

Over the next two months, the citizens of the Boston QZ lived in terror. The bodies of high FEDRA officials were turning up dead. So far, five had been discovered. A serial killer with a particularly gruesome MO was on the loose: the victims had had their throats slit, and their testicles had been cut and rammed into their mouths. One of the bodies also had a gunshot wound to the heart. People began to calm down when they heard that a special forces brigadier down in the Atlanta QZ had fared the same. No bullet wound, throat slit and balls shoved into the mouth. He had been a transplant, newly instated. The killer had apparently set up shop in Atlanta.

Secretly, a few women in the Boston QZ cheered.

Not long afterwards, Joel lost the El Diablo in an explosion.

On the way home back to the dam, Ellie was telling Joel about the day she got busted for stealing the Polaroid camera from the principal's office, her swinging basket brimming with fresh nettles. Joel was walking a few steps ahead, a stack of chopped wood on his back, tears streaming down his face.

“I miss you,” he mouthed.  


\---

If you're curious to hear what Niamh played, check out my recording. There are many wonderful professional recordings of this piece out there, but I thought I'd try to do this whole thing as a "homemade" project. (Geek alert!!! ^^) 

**Author's Note:**

> Quick exercise in the tropes of romance novels. ;-)
> 
> This is my first fanfic ever, so I'm kinda nervous. I've read very few romance/smut pieces in my life (not so much out of snobism as ignorance), but some of the stuff in this archive completely won me over. I thought I'd try to show my gratitude by writing something. 
> 
> Also, I'm not a native English speaker; hopefully, this won't be too painfully obvious.


End file.
